


No Tomorrow

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Dishonored prompts [4]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Angst, Curses, M/M, Prompt Fill, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 07:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: Thomas only laughed harder. Was this why he hadn’t left? Had he decided to follow Daud’s footsteps in this as well, to wait like a starstruck hare until the hunter finally came? To stay perfectly still until Attano came to exact his revenge? When he finally had himself under control again, Attano’s expression was furious. At length, Thomas answered: “Lay a curse upon me as you did with Daud, it will kill me faster.”





	No Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BID](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BID/gifts).



> prompt: How bout this: Almost kiss + curses + Corvo/Thomas (ultimate rarepair hell) or Corvo/Daud if youd rather?

He should have known better. Should have known better than to stay, should have known better than to take off the mask before he was far, far beyond the city’s walls — and the reach of its Protector.

Five years. Five years since an Empress died, her daughter disappeared, only to be rescued by the man convicted of the crime. Five years since Daud had warned them never to make an enemy of a witch, only to pick a fight with the most powerful witch of a generation over the portrait of a girl. Whatever Daud had seen in the Void that day, he’d never shared the particulars; Thomas had only heard him record one single audiograph, the day before they’d found Corvo, near death and drifting into the Flooded District after his abandonment. He could only guess that Daud saving the little Empress from whatever fate Delilah had in store for her may have swayed Attano’s sword as it grazed the Knife of Dunwall’s throat.

After that, Daud had vanished a day later, without a trace or word or letter. No instructions. Thomas had tried to hold the Whalers together but couldn’t, and yet somehow he could not leave this damned city; and for what? He kept himself afloat well enough, Daud had taught them all more than how to stab someone in the heart.

People didn’t bother him much, but they knew to fear his blade. That was, until one day he took a contract to spy on a noble, stumbled into a sordid tale that included a trafficking ring and more coin than he’d see in a lifetime — and ended up in custody.

Corvo Attano’s custody. He may have never seen Thomas’ face, but there was no mistaking the blade he still carried (foolish, _foolish_ ), or the way he fought.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.“

Quite against his will, Thomas laughed. Attano’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned down closer to where he was bound to the chair.

“What’s funny?”

Thomas only laughed harder. Was this why he hadn’t left? Had he decided to follow Daud’s footsteps in this as well, to wait like a starstruck hare until the hunter finally came? To stay perfectly still until Attano came to exact his revenge? When he finally had himself under control again, Attano’s expression was furious. At length, Thomas answered: “Lay a curse upon me as you did with Daud, it will kill me faster.”

“A curse—”

“He’s dead.” Thomas felt an ugly sort of bitterness, for it was full of triumph at the look on Attano’s face. “Your _banishment_ served to put him in the grave.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Magic, Lord Protector, is intent, not power. You may have left him alive that day, but you _wished_ he was dead; and your dearest wish came true. What’s that but a curse?”

Attano stared at him for a long moment. Then, he turned, gathered up his mask that he’d left on the table, and left the cell. Thomas closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards.

* * *

Three days later, Attano returned; giving so little notice the guards scrambled to bind Thomas to the chair again, but Attano waved them away. Of course, the one who carried the Mark would not think of anyone as dangerous who’d lost their connection to the Void.

“You asked to be cursed,” he said without preamble. “Get up.”

Corvo never asked if Thomas had been there, that day. He put him to work, instead; and Thomas reported directly to him. One step out of line, and he’d be back in Coldridge, he knew that well enough.

What he didn’t know, not for a long time, was that the Royal Protector still received visits from the Void. What he didn’t know that, some nights, Attano would sit on the floor at the foot of his bed, a bottle of Old Dunwall next to him and rage in his eyes. That he scoured the Void for proof.

One night, Thomas returned from his _duties_ , knowing to expect Attano still awake; but stopping in his tracks as soon as he was through the door.

Corvo sat on the floor by the bed, dishevelled, _drunk_ , and angry. At Thomas’ entrance, he snarled.

“You were telling the truth.”

“About what?“ Cautiously, Thomas stepped closer. It was dangerous, allowing himself to take in the state of Corvo’s clothes (white shirt, unbuttoned, revealing his collarbones and what could only be a tattoo covering the right side of his chest) and the flush to his cheeks, deepening his complexion.

“Daud is dead,” Corvo growled.

Thomas had reached him now, and sat down next to him, facing him. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?” He felt foolish asking; because he knew better now. He’d been working as one of the Spymaster’s agents for a few months now — if one called a glorified errand boy ‘agent’ — and in that time he’d come to realise that Attano was not the man for curses. As Thomas had no-one to blame for Daud’s death but Daud himself, not even magic; and the spite he’d shown Corvo during their first meeting had amounted to nothing more than the black taste of loss at the back of his throat. If anything, Thomas found it harder now than ever not to admire Corvo, and it wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

“No,” Corvo’s ragged voice drew him from his thoughts. “What I _wanted_ was for you to be a liar.”

“Why?”

Finally, Corvo raised his dark gaze to meet his. “Because a liar’s so much easier to hate.”

* * *

The first time Thomas met Daud, he was a scrawny kid and currently in the process of being caught, arrested, and strung up for picking pockets in the Legal District by three Warfare Overseers. They’d have liked to beat him to a pulp, too, but taking him into a back alley to do just that proved to be their undoing. In a flash, a figure in a deep red coat had hauled them off of him by their collars, a rough voice grating, “Pick on someone your own size.”

Nine years later, Thomas laughed at himself as the memory struck. If Corvo stuck to that line, he’d rarely get to spar with anyone — and as Thomas was only an inch or so taller than Daud had been, certainly not him.

But here they were, beating the shit out of each other for no good reason other than Corvo’s command to follow him down to the practice yard. New Watch officers were there, too, to observe and to be tested by the Lord Protector himself.

Fighting Corvo challenged Thomas in ways he hadn’t known since his training as a Whaler, and old instincts awakened before he could slam the lid on them. Twisting out of the way of Corvo’s folding blade, he clenched his teeth and wished he could clench his _fist_ and summon the Void to do it. Trouble was, he saw the same hunger in Corvo’s eyes; knew he was holding back for the sake of witnesses, knew Corvo was itching to teach him a lesson by using the very abilities Thomas had once possessed and lost. Perhaps later, he thought as he turned into Corvo’s next parry to slam his shoulder into the Protector’s chest before he’d quite decided to do so. Corvo grunted, then hissed through his teeth, more like a beast than a man. But instead of shoving Thomas away, he wrapped a hand around his arm like a vice.

“He taught you that,” he rumbled.

“Whose ghost is he,” Thomas returned. “Yours or mine?”

Corvo did shove him away then.

* * *

They found time to spar alone, after that, without an audience and free to hurl insults as they liked; and to talk about _him_ , albeit in snarls and grunts between hits that no-one would call conversation.

His back flat against the wall of the training room hidden in the bowels of the Tower, Thomas panted as Corvo’s arm pressed against his throat, keeping him pinned.

“I was right, you know,” he rasped. “You did curse me.”

“Did I?” Corvo’s thigh now added to the effort of keeping him in place, and Thomas nearly laughed.

“Aye,” he said. “Or else I would be able to look anywhere but your handsome face while you decide whether this is the day you finally snap my neck.”

For a moment, the pressure on his windpipe lessened, as Corvo looked… taken aback?

“You still think I want you dead.”

“Don’t you?” Thomas challenged.

Corvo’s eyes shuttered. “Only sometimes.”

Before Thomas could reply, Corvo let go of him and turned to leave; left Thomas with dreams of having his breath stolen again with lips and teeth and words that cursed the Void and the world. Dreams that would never come to pass.

He truly was cursed.

**Author's Note:**

> gaaahhhhh rarepair hell


End file.
